Harry Potter & the Slytherin Rivals of Hogwarts
by Demitria Miriam
Summary: Harry and Draco return for their 7th and final year at Hogwarts. Along with confusing feelings comes an even more dangerous development in the form of Draco's cousin. A war ensues between the two cousins over one Harry Potter. HPxDM. AU/AR.
1. Onward! To Hogwarts!

Title: Harry Potter & the Slytherin Rivals of Hogwarts  
Author: Demitria Miriam  
Rating: R  
Pairing: Harry x Draco  
Warnings: Mentions of past/possible rape, suggestiveness, m/m slash, swearing, OCs etc. Yes, this is the HPSRH from 2004, just heavily edited and butchered. I gave up rewriting it xD  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and make no money off this piece of fiction.

Summary: The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Infamous Draco Malfoy return for their 7th and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Along with confusing feelings also comes an even more dangerous development in the form of Draco's cousin visiting Hogwarts. One of the most prominent things a Malfoy is taught is that 'A Malfoy always gets what he wants.' Even if another Malfoy has claimed it. Even if it means taking it by force. Even if it's Harry Potter.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Onward! To Hogwarts!**

"I hear you won't be the only Malfoy in school this year, Draco," came Pansy Parkinson's voice. She sat next to her blond bombshell of a friend, while Blaise Zabini sat on the aforementioned's other side, with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle occupying the booth across.

It was true; Draco Malfoy would indeed be sharing his territory with that of _another_ Malfoy this term.

The rumor had started when Colin Creevy, an annoying 6th year Gryffindor that all of the Slytherins referred to as Creepy Creevy, had snuck into the Snake Pit to take whatever scandalous pictures he thought he could get. Apparently everyone believed that any and all of the Slytherin's hang outs, and the things that went on there, usually consisted of mass group orgies and illegal abuse of magic. No one knew that they only played gin, with a few high stakes of who won the other's Chocolate Frogs, or when they really wanted to be risqué, they bet their Cockroach Clusters.

The Snake Pit- being whatever area the Slytherins happened to populate at any given time- in this case happened to be the train's luggage compartment, which was technically off limits to all students. However, it had been, since Hogwarts was founded, considered the Slytherins' territory and therefore inaccessible to anyone that wasn't in the most prestigious House of Snake.

This was why it was surprising, and really annoying, to hear a scrape against the floor in the back of the room, then a gasp of breath the exact moment after Draco spilled the magical beans. At the sudden sounds the (not at all startled) blond ordered Crabbe and Goyle to check what all the ruckus was about while their comrade Blaise merely suggested it was a really big rat festering about for scraps of food. However the next moment they heard a beckoning holler from Goyle and found the little skulking rat huddled behind a big crate, his old, soul stealing camera hugged to his chest as if it would protect him.

Draco grinned in that rather devious way he was accustomed to right before a Gryffindor was pummeled into something hard and unforgiving, almost as unforgiving as his patience at the moment. However the satisfaction of said pummeling never occurred because the next moment as tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber approached Creepy Creevy a brilliant flash of white light speared the air around them.

At first all four Slytherin boys thought a teacher had caught them in the midst of... _helping_ Creevy up off the floor and onto his feet, mistaking their leers and fist to hand gestures as they approached him as an impending beating, which, really, was ridiculous! Why would a Slytherin beat up a _Gryffindor?_ However, the boys quickly realized that it was not a teacher's warning that had streaked across room, blinding them. It was, in fact, Creepy Creevy's camera flashing them.

_How appropriate_, Draco thought, dismissing the situation as easily as he would a lock of stray hair.

Figuring they'd get caught for sure if they stayed in the cargo hold for much longer, the boys made haste to their compartment where their compatriot, Pansy Parkinson, was napping.

Contrary to popular belief, Slytherins were not heinous, evil creatures that stole candy from babies and woke sleeping girls from their afternoon naps. No. They knew better. They knew if they woke Pansy from her noon sleep they'd face something much more horrifying than any growling potions professor could muster up. They knew when girls were disturbed, from whatever activity that may be going on, whether it was sleeping, filing their nails or reading the latest article of _Witch Weekly_, they turned into the very she-demons they'd left home to get away from. Their mothers.

No. Waking a female up was definitely an absolute no-no.

That's when the boys heard thundering footsteps outside their compartment running down towards the Gryffindor portion of the train. The young men held their breath, not daring to move or speak, not even to shut up the offending feet that ran like lunatics down the corridor. Why?

Because better those gits getting chewed out than them!

So shush they were!

And wake Pansy did!

"-co? Are you listening to me, Draco?"

"Hmm? What'd you say?" came the blonde's voice, tone dull, coming back to the present.

"I said, I hear you won't be the only Malfoy in school this year," she repeated.

"How did you hear about that?" Blaise burst, unable to keep his mouth shut, even with the impending doom of the she-demon's wrath.

"That's what all this commotion's about. Supposedly Draco's cousin is coming from one of the Americas."

"And where exactly did you hear this?" Draco asked, eyebrow raised in a fine arch.

"Creepy came hollering down the corridor like he was on fire, screaming it for the world to hear," was Pansy's light answer, waving her hand in dismissal of the reason why she knew, wanting instead to focus on whether or not it was true.

"That little bugger! We should've hexed him before he pulled that stunt on us!" Blaise growled.

"So? Are the rumors true? Is there another _you_ attending Hogwarts? A yank?"

"Mmm, that is the rumor," Draco mumbled noncommittally, his mind straying elsewhere.

He was fairly sure his cousin, Evane Malfoy, wouldn't be welcomed with open arms to a school that, for the most part, shunned Malfoys for their unique way of thinking. If you could call pure-blooded bigotry a unique way of thought, that is.

However, none of this concerned Draco in the least. What was grating on his nerves was the fact that he would have to share territory with his cousin. _His_ territory. Evane and he had never seen eye to eye, and probably never would. Their influences had been different, their parents, though related by direct blood, had raised them to their own beliefs. It didn't help matters that Evane thought himself superior to Draco, even though Draco was five months Evane's senior. That fact was null and void to the American who held no respect, nor concern, for his British kin. Even as children they had been at odds with one another. When one family visited the other during holiday the families would always put the boys together, hoping they'd get along and become great acquaintances. However, the result of shoving two emotionally challenged and bratty children together resulted in one thing; the stealing of precious toys.

_Stealing my toys back when we were children was one thing, but if he thinks he can take what I've worked so hard to obtain here, he has another thing coming!_

"Draco?"

"Huh?"

"Are you alright, Draco?" Pansy questioned. The blond in return gave her a puzzled look. Delicately, as well as cautiously (who knew where his mind was right now), she touched his shoulder. "It's just that... you look a bit..." Pansy bit her lip, searching for the right word.

"Asinine," came Goyle's low voice, completely heedless of the certain doom that description could possibly bring him.

Blaise kept his chuckles inside his belly for as long as he could (which was only about three seconds) before bursting out in raucous laughter.

"What?" Goyle asked, his brows furrowing, not liking being laughed at.

"You just called Draco stupid!" Blaise snorted.

"Quiet, you!" Pansy scolded the laughing boy on Draco's other side.

"Well he did look stupid just sitting there with his mouth hanging open like a fish," Goyle grumbled.

That caught Pansy's attention and she herself couldn't stop the giggles tickling the back of her tongue.

"Oh, shut up, the lot of you!" Draco growled, highly put off by everyone else's amusement. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of Pansy holding her hand against her mouth so the laughter was slightly muffled. Though, really, why she bothered, he hadn't the faintest idea. It was fairly obvious that she was absolutely _tickled_ by Goyle's observation, however unwelcome it was.

Pansy's laugh finally snuck past her hindering hand and rang throughout the small compartment, along with those of her housemates.

Even though everyone's merriment was at his own expense, Draco couldn't help but find comfort in his friend's good humor. Especially Pansy's.

When he was younger Draco hadn't cared much for Pansy "the Pug" Parkinson whom his mother had introduced to him as his new playmate at the ripe old age of six. She was an awful girl, really, with a nasty personality, and she didn't share her toys. Not that she had any good ones anyway, but since a few weeks after they had initially met so long ago their mother's saw fit to get them together as much as possible, and all because they had witnessed one miserable experience Draco hadn't even wanted to be apart of in the first place.

They were six and seven, respectively, and Pansy had wanted to play a little something called "House." This was a game Draco had never played, and had a feeling he'd never want to play again, but Pansy had been adamant that if he didn't play she'd tell his mother that he fed his vegetables to his Italian Greyhound, Pappy, every night.

Pappy, of course, was more than happy to gobble down his young master's greens; unlike most dogs, he had no problems with the more healthy aspect of his family's plates, especially the tiny spherical ones that looked like little pebbles. However, green peas aside, Pappy's secret love were bananas. Especially when they were over a few days old and got those dark splotches on them. Thankfully Young Master didn't like those either and Draco had always been more than kind to his faithful companion.

Because of the food trade and the fact that Pappy couldn't tell anyone, the bond between young child and family guard was a mutual and beneficial relationship. One they were not willing to let go of so easily. So naturally, Draco relented to Pansy's blackmail and agreed to play this "House" game.

And he regretted it almost immediately. Apparently the object of the game was just as sketchy as taking a girl on as a companion was.

They were "married" and had "two children; one boy and one girl." Draco was "a high-ranking government official and made lots of money and always kept his wife- whom he referred to as _muffin-cakes_- happy. Their first child, a boy named Draco Jr., was 2 years old. Conveniently, Pappy was about 2 years old and a boy, and served as Draco and Pansy's son. Not until Draco was older would he realize the irony in that.

Draco and Muffin-Cake's second child was a girl, who was to be named Pansy Jr., and had yet to be born. Where was the baby, one may wonder. She was in fact underneath her mother's shirt, positioned against her stomach. Draco wasn't sure how the child stayed there, but it was large and squishy when Pansy made him touch her tummy.

"It's a pillow," six-year-old Draco had stated dejectedly. This game really wasn't all that fun.

"No, it's our _daughter_," seven-year-old Pansy hummed.

"Well, how's it supposed to come out then?" was Draco's counter question, trying to stretch her shirt out to see if their squishy daughter would fall out.

"Stop that! You'll hurt her! Besides, the stork will bring her," Pansy announced, caressing the bump of "child" beneath her clothes.

"But it's squishy. I don't want a squishy daughter," Draco frowned. Pansy stopped humming and caressing her stomach, slowly turning her head to the side to regard the blond boy with a thin lipped, tight expression.

"You will love your squishy daughter, Draco Malfoy, or so help me I will stuff so many peas and carrots in your mouth you won't know the difference between that and a garden!" Pansy shrieked, throwing her hands up in the air and running after the terrified boy.

A few minutes later their mothers found them in the garden, Pansy with her small hands around Draco's neck demanding he be a better husband and father or else(!), and Draco yelling that he didn't want to eat salad.

The two women had been shocked and immediately asked what was going on. Pansy had pushed away from Draco (who was gasping for breath) and stated in a sickly sweet voice that they were playing house. She then went on to explain the rather boring details to their make-believe marriage. Their mother's were absolutely tickled by this and Mrs. Parkinson insisted that Draco come over to their house the next weekend.

Draco had shook his head passionately, fear obvious in his small grey eyes as his mother smiled knowingly and agreed to sign his death certificate in the form of spending more time with Pansy "the Pug" Parkinson.

However, as they grew up, and Draco came around to accept the idea of how important it was to have female company in ones life, he found that she was more significant to him than he would have ever guessed. She, in all rights, was his confidant, his secret keeper. He knew he could trust her with almost anything. Unless of course it was a girl he happened to like. He knew within twenty minutes of him telling her something like that, that every single one of their friends would know, not to mention their mothers, fathers, siblings and extended family. That was how powerful the Parkinson Gossip genes went.

Yes, he had learned the hard way back when he was ten to keep his love affairs to himself.

Aside from that however, his parents still thought they would have been the cutest couple; both powerful and beautiful. However, Pansy wasn't what Draco was searching for. Sure, he knew she was endlessly devoted to him, loyal, honest, not to mention had a charisma all her own, but aside from friendship he felt nothing close to the primal need he knew he'd feel for a lover when he found the right one that he was meant to keep in his bed and secured to his side.

Besides, Pansy wouldn't have even been a challenge to seduce. And what fun was that?

No, Draco didn't want a free ticket to an easy shag. He wanted something more complex than that.

What he wanted was a fucking challenge.

"I'm not sure about the lot of you, but I'm damn glad we're in our last year. Finally," came Blaise Zabini's laidback voice, effectively startling Draco from his reverie of horrendous, past events.

"I agree with you entirely, Blaise. We'll be free to come and go as we please after commencement. No annoying professors to listen to, no dull lectures to attend, and no more-"

"No more Harry Potter!" Crabbe said simply as he got up to leave the compartment to chase after the Snack Tray lady.

Draco blinked, taken aback.

Where _was_ Potter anyway?

Not that he cared, mind you.

* * *

**Chapter end.**


	2. Are We There Yet?

**Chapter 2: ...Are We There Yet?**

Bringing up Potter nowadays was somewhat of a strenuous topic for Draco Malfoy to join in on, let alone think upon. On the one hand, the four-eyed git had defeated someone that had, for well over two decades, been the most fearsome wizard of all time. And on the other hand... he was a Gryffindor. Though while the War of Victory, as they'd ironically named it, was finally over and done with by what would have been the end of Draco's seventh year, the Slytherin, never mind any of his other class mates, had yet to actually finish their seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

So here his classmates and he were, a year older than the usual 7th Year, riding the Hogwarts Express to a school where the last time any of them had seen it was in near rubble the war had turned the castle into.

The war...

It wasn't something one could easily forget. The day the war had been officially declared by the ministry, and then announced to the students at Hogwarts, was exactly how one would envision it to be—cold wind blowing up and down in the castle, grey skies, dark clouds looming around, ice rain pouring down every now and then. It was a very dreary day indeed, perfect, Draco supposed, for killing and maiming innocent bystanders.

Draco remembered it all very elaborately. He could still see Dumbledore calling an assembly when the 7th years were just beginning their first class of the day; Advanced Potions VII. A quiet, younger teacher had shot into their classroom, mumbled something incoherently, and quickly left as Professor Snape's eyes widened and his mouth tightened into a thin line. He quickly dismissed his pupils to the Hall, where everyone else was chattering about, wondering what was going on.

**[Draco's thoughts and memories start here]**

_I knew what was going on the second I walked in there_, Draco reminisced.

Potter was whispering something to his Gryffindor friends; they looked horrified, angry and perplexed all in one. He gave them both embraces, kissed Girl-Weasel on the cheek and nodded to the rest of the Gryffindors. He seemed to have taken a long needed breath, bowed his head, and looked up warily at the congregation of teachers.

Dumbledore rose then, and the Hall fell silent instantly. He looked around at everyone, starting with the Gryffindor table, his eyes lingering on our table. And then he spoke in his age-old voice.

"Friends, students, and faculty. The day has finally arrived. We are indeed going to war. [Startled gasps sounded all around, cries echoing about the large room] The school will not be closed down, but locked down. All students will remain here, safe and well cared for. Many of the professors will be here to help you. However, rules will be _strictly_ followed."

Dumbledore kept giving us words of encouragement, telling us our parent's and families would be fine. But I forgot most of his speech. I was too busy surveying the Hall for everyone's reactions.

Many were filled with horror, some with anger, and few with valor. Though, Potter was the only one with all three emotions displayed in his eyes, as well as his body language.

I can only remember that all years of every house, Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and Ravenclaws, were quickly shuffled into the dungeons, though, we were directed to a part of them that none of the Slytherins, or even myself, knew of.

For our protection, I suppose.

However, I wanted to know what was going down that day, so I stayed behind, and hid behind a large plant in the corridor, near the Great Hall.

Professors Snape, Hagrid, McGonagall, Trelawney, Sprout and Dumbledore came out together and stood in the (somewhat) empty corridor. Behind them, came Potter. And what they said, I remember snippets of that conversation; just the main things.

" 'arry, you know you don't 'ave to do this." Hagrid was standing in front of Potter, one hand on his shoulder. Potter bit his lip, looked down, and then answered.

"Professor-" Potter looked up, but shook his head as if to rectify something. "_Hagrid_, you know I have to do this. It can't be any other way."

" 'eadmaster, shurley—" Hagrid was cut off.

"If Harry wishes to accompany us, so shall he have it."

Then I heard footsteps coming down another corridor, heading for Potter and the professors. They didn't seem alarmed at all by the hurried steps so all I could do was hold my breath in nerve wrecking anticipation.

Then suddenly, a figure in a dark cloak and a hood appeared before them. The shadow-figure quickly took off his hood and looked desperately at Potter. It turned out to be our old Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Remus J. Lupin, if I remembered correctly.

They were all silent as he searched Potter's eyes, as if looking for some kind of answer.

Then suddenly—

"No! As your Godfather, I will not allow this! It's unspeakable. You are not going to go." He turned toward Dumbledore. "He is not going. I forbid it."

"Remu—"

"No, Harry. You could be killed. I won't let what happened to your parents and Sirius happen to you. You are the closest thing I have to kin now. I may be selfish, but I'm not going to lose you. Sirius appointed and acknowledged me as your godfather in his will. I will not— You don't know how powerful Voldemort—"

My eyes widened at the casual use of the Dark Lord's name. Lupin kept going on about how Vol- how the _Dark Lord_- might kill Potter.

"Remus, it's my choice and mine alone. I choose to fight. I can't just sit here with the other students, knowing that you, Hagrid and the others are fighting out there—fighting against Merlin-knows-what, and fighting against a cause that I believe so deeply in. It's not because I feel I'm obligated to do this, it's because I need to do this. For my parent's, for Sirius, Cedric, for all the families he's harmed, for the past, present and future. And for me.

"Besides, were I to stay here it would put the other students in harms way. You know when he's made his point doing whatever he'll just come right here for me. I can't- I _won't_ put them at risk."

Potter looked pleadingly at Lupin.

With a sigh of defeat, Lupin said, "I understand, Harry. I don't like it. But I understand."

"Thank you."

After that they spoke of their reinforcements, moving on to people they knew they would be going up against and what their weaknesses were. And then McGonagall said it.

"Lucius Malfoy—"

"I am well aware of that issue, Minerva. Lucius hasn't exactly been lying low now that Voldemort is at his strongest."

"And the boy? What are we to do? He is the father of one of our students, Albus. What if he—"

Potter didn't seem to pay attention—he was too busy staring at the oh-so-impressive stone walls. Then—

"I don't think Malfoy is the issue here," Potter stated. I remember seething at that. "We have to do what we need to, regardless of any relations. We probably don't even know how many of the Hogwart's student's parents _are _Death Eaters, or even supporters, of Voldemort. It isn't like Draco's fighting with us, against his father or anything. Staying here and out of the war makes him a neutral, whether it's against his will or not."

It felt weird for Potter to call me by my given name. And to be viewed as weak. Though, this time, my pride wouldn't get in the way of staying alive and out of something I wasn't concerned in. Not yet at least.

"You are absolutely right, Harry," Dumbledore finalized.

They left after a while. Most likely preparing for war. I slumped against the stone wall, my head pounding with so many thoughts.

In the beginning of our schooling at Hogwarts, in First Year, I had offered my friendship to Potter—because, of course, I was ordered to by my father. If he accepted, Potter would be swayed to our— my _father's_ side. He would be taught a certain way, brain-washed, and easy prey for Voldemort to manipulate, to use. However, he declined. And from then on, it was a war all our own.

Father told me I should attempt to be nice to Potter, to gain his trust, but I suddenly didn't give a rat's ass what Father's plans were—the only thing that I was focused on was the simple fact that Potter didn't want to be associated with me. I had everything—money, power, my handsome good looks... but no. He declined my friendship. He declined a Malfoy. He declined ME.

So naturally, Potter had to pay. Along with anyone else that was associated with the stupid four-eyed git.

That evening (the day the war was announced) felt as if it would never end. After contemplating in the corridor near the Great Hall, I decided it was time to retreat to the dungeons where my fellow classmates awaited. When I arrived down in the designated area I was escorted to a secret part of them, and then retired to a room that I was told I shared with Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle.

Safety in numbers, you know.

It was hard not to think of my father. Would the Dark Lord win? If he did win, would he kill all the Mud-Bloods and Muggle-lovers? How many of my fellow students, all years and houses, would be left alive? Would I have to become a Death Eater because Father was one? What happened if they lost, though? Would Father still treat me and Mother as trophies and things to be ordered around? Would he die? Would I even care if he did?

I wasn't sure of any of the answers and fell into a fitful sleep.

When I awoke, Goyle was in my room, sitting on Zabini's bed, looking at me intently. He looked almost intelligent.

That thought alone was rather nerve wrecking.

"The war's over."

"What?"

"It ended last night. Well this morning, around four a.m."

"Who— What? Did we-?"

"We won." I was baffled for once. I thought Voldemort would surely want me as a Death Eater, the exquisite son of Lucius Malfoy, one of the elites among Death Eaters.

"But—What happened? Dumbledore? Is he—?"

"No Drake, WE won. Potter—" A dramatic pause, his shoulders shrugged, he bowed his head and he took a deep breath, then he continued. "You-Know-Who, he's _gone._"

With that I did something so _un-manly_, I will never _willingly_ tell a living soul.

I fainted.

In the coming days many came back, wounded. Though, many also had died, and were greatly mourned for. The school had been since closed down, but the students remained in the castle until the date we were originally suppose to go home arrived—we'd had no homework or classes but were suppose to help out as much as we could in caring for the people that had survived since St Mungo's was overloaded.

The first day back in the Great Hall I noticed Granger and Weasley sitting opposite each other, staring at their empty plates while everyone else ate around them happily.

Potter wasn't there.

Did he give his life to defeat the Dark Lord? Did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named kill Potter and then Dumbledore defeat Voldemort? I wanted to know. But asking questions so soon wasn't something I was about to do. Suddenly—

Father! What happened to him?

Great.

So there I was sitting in the Great Hall with my fellow Slytherin's, picking at my sausage with my spoon and contemplating whether my father had died or not. It was nearly 9:30 a.m. The mail usually came by now... Suddenly a breeze of wind interrupts everyone's cheerful dispositions (well the ones that had it anyway) and looked up—many owls were soaring in, dropping everyone who had mail to them. I looked suddenly as I heard a very regal, domineering sound.

My gold falcon, Siphys (I named him myself), dropped a single envelope for me; it was black, had white calligraphy on it and was sealed with red wax, imprinted with a gold stamp of the Founders of Magic. My hands trembled, my body perspiring.

Suddenly I heard gasps and a roar of applause. My head turned toward the entrance.

Well. Bugger me.

Harry-bloody-Potter. Tired, bruised, and a bandage around his arm and forehead came limping in. He held his head high, but didn't smile. His eyes were blank. Blank to everyone. Except me. He looked at me suddenly. My eyes widened and I tried to look away, but he still stared, as if trying to tell me something. Finally he sat himself down next to his friends. I looked down at my letter. Opening it carefully, I closed my eyes and silently prayed.

When I opened it—

It just didn't quite hit me as I read the bold red print. There were 28 words filling the parchment but only two words standing out; recent disappearances.

* * *

_Dear Mister Malfoy,_

_With deepest sympathies, our condolences go to you, Draconis Lucius Malfoy, as we regretfully inform you of your father, Lucius Donavon Malfoy, and mother, Narcissa Ptoloma (Black) Malfoy's recent disappearances._

_-The Ministry of Magic  
_

* * *

My first thought, before the rage and mourning was this: They don't even know my full-fucking-name. Typical. It's Lucian Draconian Malfoy Donavan d'Laour, you dolts.

But then I remember my breath stopping, my blood running cold, and my joints numbing. My body knew nothing; no emotions, no movements, no sensations. All thoughts of Potter, of my life, of even the simplest movement flew out the window.

My friends were shaking my shoulders, asking what was wrong and for the life of me I couldn't handle it and instead stormed out of the Hall.

"Disappeared" was all it said, no explanation of what had led up to their disappearances. Nothing. No one seemed to want to explain to me, in detail, what exactly had happened the day of the war.

Even now that I'm in my- though postponed- 7th and final year of school I still don't know what happened to them, how they vanished. How they may have actually been killed... Did they beg for their lives if that was the case?

I shook the awful thoughts I was having about how they died and cursed them away. I couldn't think of such things. I would go stark raving mad by the end of the day. So I headed for my room to be alone. To calm down. To mourn.

But mostly, to beat the _living shit_ out of something.

A couple of days later school was to be out. It was summer holiday. Where the fuck was I suppose to go? As if answering my cry Siphys glided in, landing on my bed—he had brought me another envelope, though, this time it was white, the calligraphy black and sealed with gold wax.

I sat alone, quietly, in my room, the morning everyone was going to leave, fingering the envelope but not being able to open it right away.

I worked up the nerve after a few minutes (oh alright! It was like twenty!) and ripped the paper open. It was from Calgary Lenomstrong, the new Ministress of Magic.

* * *

It read:

_Dear Mister Draco Malfoy. _

_We regret the grave news we've had to recently deliver to you. However, it was said if anything was to happen to them, you would reside with your Aunt Daphne in Surrey, England—in the Hidden Heights of Wizards. Your aunt will pick you up promptly after school is dismissed for the holiday. You will be able to go to your birth home, Malfoy Manor, and collect the things you wish before returning with her to your new residence._

_Sincerely,  
Calgary Lenomstrong, Ministress of Magic_

_

* * *

_

So, I ended up collecting many things from the Manor. Things of my father's, of Mother's.

As far as I knew everything else I left behind was either burned or kept in my vault at Gringotts.

That Holiday I spent in my room, reading my father's things, taking comfort in my mother's journals.

**[Draco's flashback ends here]**

_Now it's time to go back for my final year at Hogwarts._

With thoughts of Hogwarts in his head, Draco remembered what he had first started to think about. _Potter. Where was that stupid-pompous git?_

He hadn't seen him on Platform 9¾ when everyone boarded, and come to think of it, he hadn't noticed an annoying red-head or Ms. Nosey Granger either. Suddenly Draco shook himself. _No need to waste my precious mental space thinking of the whereabouts of Potter and his groupies_.

Leaning against his seat, Draco melted into the soft cushion ready to take a snooze when he heard arguing walking down the corridor and his cab's door yanked to the side with a screech.

Silence ensued as all occupants of either the corridor or the train compartment stared at one another. Draco opened his eyes to regard the nuisances and he came face to face with the one person he'd been wondering about all day.

"Uhh... the other compartments are already full..." a rather scruffy looking Harry Potter said.

Potter and Girl Weasel were standing in front of the Slytherin's compartment asking for entrance into the usually feared Snake's Pit. Granted, only Draco, Pansy and Blaise occupied this compartment since Crabbe and Goyle had wandered off earlier, leaving more than plenty of room for the two.

Silence ensued as everyone merely stared at one another, then to either party's leader, wondering who would say what next and whether it'd be a string of curses and hexes or grumbles and admission.

Draco could already feel his headache intensify as his two companions gazed at him in anticipation. The blond waved a hand absently to the seats in front of them and said, "Do what you will."

The Gryffindors gaped for a sputtering second before spilling in and sitting awkwardly in front of the silent Slytherins, fidgeting this way and that. "Uhm..." started the Girl Weasel. "Thank you, for letting us sit in here with you, I mean."

Her gratitude was wasted as Pansy and Blaise simply gave her a short glance before either resumed their previous engagements; Pansy flipping through _Witch Weekly_, and Blaise sketching on the back of his new Potions text with the edge of his wand.

Draco sat like a king surrounded by his peons. His tall, lean frame was slouched, comfortable and regarding everything and everyone within the compartment with such a nonchalant and unabashed attitude that those who occupied the car fell easily, and almost instantaneously, into their assigned peonic roles.

Regardless of the tangible hostility the houses still felt for each other, it was to a less extreme since the War that had begun and ended during what was supposed to have been their 7th and final year at Hogwarts. However, due to the crescendo the fighting had reached at the end of their 6th year, Draco and his classmates hadn't any choice as to begin their final year. Textbooks were exchanged for curses, hexes, protection spells, and so on, while students were turned into adults enlisted into a war that had nothing to do with them personally but had everything to do with them initially.

The outcome of the War proved many insights for not only adults but for the children as well, which, through hardship, pain, agony, death and darkness, some glimmer of light had managed to survive and renew hope within people's hearts. And once Voldemort was gone, the prejudice many had become accustomed to waned with time, even if the security of misdirected hostility did not.

"So, Potter, how's the family?" Draco spoke up nonchalantly, gazing out the window as the habitat of the land passed by in a breeze each second, grey eyes flickering toward an angry, reflective visage of one Harry Potter. "Oh wait, you don't have one, never mind."

"_Malfoy_," the dark-haired boy snarled lowly, fists bunching but making no other move of threat.

"Hn," the blond snorted through his nose, finally tearing his eyes from the scenery to the blazing green eyes squeezing out rays of pinpoint needles in his direction.

"Harry," the Girl Weasel mumbled quietly, touching a soft hand to the other's forearm.

"Yes, Potter, keep a reign on that temper of yours, or your Chaser might just have to scold you," the Slytherin taunted.

"You are such an arse, Malfoy," was the only thing the scar-faced goody-goody could muster in reply, mouth still drawn into a straight line as he leaned further back into his seat, doing his best to ignore the other.

Draco smiled inwardly. Ahh, there was the Potter he was used to and could find familiar ground with. Fighting once again.

While neither would admit to it, fighting with each other as they used to had become a highly missed occurrence and pastime. While their brawls weren't nearly as vicious as they used to be, the consistency and familiarity of them was what seemed to bring peace, oddly enough, to either Seeker's nearly chaotic life. A notion that probably wouldn't make much sense to anyone but them. And oddly enough, Draco found that he treasured it dearly.

Though he'd rather die than admit that to scar-face.

Twenty more minutes was spent in utter, nearly awkward silence. Gazes would catch gazes, eyes would narrow and then look away abruptly like it didn't happen. Either side of the small cab shuffled uncomfortably. Draco snorted to himself, assessing everyone discreetly.

It seemed the hostility in the cab- No, scratch that. It wasn't exactly "hostility" per se that hung in the air between either house that had been forced to share this cab by mere circumstance... It was... something else... Something like-

"Sexual tension," Pansy Parkinson said out of nowhere, taking all occupants by surprise.

Okay, that was definitely NOT right either.

Everyone stared, unabashed, at the female Slytherin, the girl merely blinking back in nonchalant reply. Draco nudged her with his elbow before leveling her with his best _What the fuck was that about, you loony cow?_-look.

Pansy leveled him with a look of her own, one which caused Draco's eyebrow to twitch spastically for a moment. He knew that look, and Salazar forbid he proceed any further with inquiring what loony bin she'd escaped from (or he'd be force fed salad for the rest of the week). It didn't help matters any that Potter had caught the entire exchange. Though, thankfully, the bedraggled heathen had enough brain cells left in his empty head to attempt a change in topic, one that, surprisingly enough, made more sense than Pansy's outburst.

"So," Potter began. "No room left in the luxury car for you, Malfoy?" The Gryffindor commented offhandedly of how Draco and his cronies were in a cramped, rather plebian style, cab instead of relaxing in the high class car they usually inhabited with all of the other wealthy purebloods.

Draco's mouth quirked slightly. "Hardly, Potter."

When the dark-haired boy realized his intended bait hadn't worked, he tried again. "What? Couldn't fit that oversized noggin of yours through the door?"

The blond Slytherin's lip curled, finding Potter's intended insult more humorous than offending. Though, he'd have to admit he found it even more amusing that the Gryffindork seemed to completely ignore either of their tagalongs in lieu of picking a fight with him only.

It was a fairly queer thing to become elated over but he was nonetheless.

Until he heard the gigglesnort from the ginger-haired girl next to Potter, a rather unbecoming sound she hadn't quite suppressed within her belly.

"Find something funny, Weaselette?" Grey eyes narrowed in rising agitation. And then the infuriating happened.

A gigglesnort sounded from right _next_ to him.

Draco's attention snapped to the female seated beside him instantly. Pansy blinked, holding her hand in front of her mouth to stifle her snorts. "What? It's true, you do have a rather... large head, Draco-"

"Shut _up_, Pansy."

And suddenly the entire cab was laughing (Slytherins), or attempting to press their mouths into a firm line to keep from smiling and laughing as well (Gryffindors). Even Draco was fighting against it, and instead of giving into it like everyone else seemed to be doing (even though the two Houses weren't exactly... friends, nor friendly, there was some sort of... alliance there regardless), and instead huffed in complaint, turning toward the window and staring out at the darkening sky, thinking dejectedly:

_Are we there yet?_

_

* * *

_**Chapter end.**_  
_


	3. Odd Alliance

**Chapter 3: Odd Alliance**

The Hogwarts Express had been at a standstill for the past twenty minutes, and Draco Malfoy was close to losing his head if he had to endure... _this_... any longer.

The small compartment that held two claustrophobic Gryffindors and three bored (and one closeted claustrophobic) Slytherins was quickly becoming a breeding ground for one of Draco's most loathed pet peeves.

_Drip!_

Oh, that was it! He couldn't take it anymore!

"Will you _do_ something about that, _Potty?_ It's disgusting!" Malfoy snapped out of nowhere. Everyone glanced his way.

Harry blinked a bit before he realized what it was that was peeving Malfoy off (aside from his existence, that is).

"Sorry if I've offended your delicate sensibilities, Malfoy, but I don't happen to know any spells that get rid of _body sweat_," the Gryffin_doodle_ sniped back before nodding in thanks to the Weaslette when she aimed a mini breeze his way.

Snickers touched the blond Slytherin's ears from beside him. "Aww, does Potter leaking _man juice_ unsettle you, Dracooo?" Blaise poked fun at his friend, not much better off in the small, humid compartment than that of the green-eyed Seeker.

Draco's eyes narrowed. Betrayed. By his own comrades no less.

"I'm going to _peel_ the skin from your ugly hide, Zabini!" Draco growled, a whine still constant in the back of his throat. Of all the things to put up with before the Entrance Ceremony, THIS had never even managed to make it into Draco's Book of Woes.

Potter apparently found the scene rather amusing because the next moment he, too, was prodding at Draco's barely-there patience. "Geez, Malfoy, if you get this bothered by a little sweat, I'd really hate to know how much sex overwhelms yo-"

"I'll fucking _overwhelm_ YOU, Potter!-..." the grey-eyed Slytherin blinked, his mind catching up. "Bugger!" Draco cursed himself for having fallen into that one, turning a very slight shade of coral as he turned his body to stare out the window in stubborn ignorance.

The guffawing around the compartment continued on for another few minutes before slowing fading back into awkward silence, each occupant caught in their own thoughts of what could have possibly happened further up the train to held up the students THIS far back.

"I wonder what's got the whole lot backed up," Ginny Weasley asked aloud, getting up and trying her best to wiggle the door open but to no avail; the people on the other side shook their heads in shared annoyance. There was just no room for them to move out of the way for those that happened to be stuck in their compartments.

"Give up, there's no point," Malfoy said, looking at no one in particular. A wicked gleam appeared in his eye the next moment as he brought his wand out, pointing it at the glass window he sat next to. "I say we just blow the window out."

"Are you out of your mind, Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed.

Draco merely stared at the sweaty black-haired-mop-head, shrugging. He very well could be, he supposed, what with being stuck in a tiny car like they were, noxious sweat fumes annoyingly abundant. Blaise whispered conspiratorially beside him, sympathizing, "Worth a shot."

The blond snickered.

A sudden jolt rippled down the train, throwing the students within against the train walls and each other.

"Damnit, Potter!" the Slytherin yelled out, pushing himself as far away as possible from the Gryffindor. Ew, ew, _ew!_ He frantically grabbed at his robes that he'd put off to the side, wiping at the moisture on his skin that was definitely NOT his own. "Maybe if you weren't such a brain-damaged scar-face you'd have enough sense to wait until you got OUT of the damn train to put your robes on and not try to suffocate us to death with your excessive skin problems!"

Harry, in return, glared unamused, looking as if he were about to say something in retort, before seeming to simply rethink his actions and take a different course altogether...

...one which, in Draco's mind, was almost as bad as a _sweaty Potter__._

And that was a robeless, _shirtless Potter_. Staring at him smugly.

Draco's face surely held the expression of pure and utter _horror_. That cheeky twat!

"H-Harry!" the Weaslette gasped, blushing, her glance switching from the surprised on lookers stuck outside their cab to that of the Slytherins'.

The reaction from the ginger-haired girl was predictable, as were the ones of the random students stuck in the corridor... But if he'd had a choice in the matter, he'd rather not have seen the excited blush that heated what he could see of Pansy's face in his peripheral vision.

The traitorous bint.

"Damnit, Potter, cover yourself at least! How indecent are you half-bloods anyway!" the Slytherin growled, his own cheeks coloring in embarrassment.

Harry carried on as if he hadn't even heard the blonde's complaint. "Well, Malfoy, looks like it _is_ a lot cooler without that scratchy old thing on. Thanks for the advice." Damn him, but the Gryffindor looked smug at how uncomfortable he was making the nearly irate pureblood.

"I'd hardly call that _advice_, Potter. Never mind the fact that-" Draco shook his head, cutting himself off and clearing his train of thought. So _not_ the time to get into a heated argument with the idiot of whether he should or should not have clothes on. Ugh.

Instead of instigating yet another fight, Draco chose to instead look out the window again, anywhere but at the stupid oaf sitting half-naked in front of his friends and him.

It was only a few moments later that anyone in the compartment noticed the line outside their door was slowly but surely moving, until finally there was room enough outside and between passing students to open it and slip out.

Draco growled under his breath as he walked down the hall with his friends, glaring mini-Cruciatus curses at the back of Potter's head, a head that was part of a person that still had yet to cover himself to the point of decency.

* * *

"Oi! Mate! Over here!"

Harry glanced around all the students, finally spotting his friend's waving hand near the back. Making his way over, the Gryffindor smiled.

"Ron!" Harry grinned, finally walking up to an obscenely taller, somehow more muscular version of his best mate that he'd seen three months ago. "Wow, what happened to you? Did you eat a Romanian wrestler when visiting your brother?"

"Shut it, Harry," the ginger-haired male laughed, embracing his friend. "Where's Ginny?" he asked, looking around. Harry turned his head as well.

"Think she went looking for a friend of hers."

"Ah." A moment of silence passed easily enough between the two before, "Uh, Harry? I hate to break it to ya, mate, but... You're half-naked."

The green-eyed Gryffindor blinked before looking down at himself and remembering. He chuckled, "Oh, this. Malfoy was pissing himself because I'd put my robes on in the cab-"

"You shared a cab with Malfoy?" Ron asked surprised. "Bet that was entertaining."

"Mm," Harry murmured, shuffling his clothing around in his hands and slipping it back over his body.

"Aw, 'Clothed Harry' is definitely a sight for the sore eyes 'Naked Harry' gave me- OW!" Ron laughed, dodging his friend's jabs.

"So where's 'mione? I figured she'd have been on the platform by now..." Harry asked, moving his eyes over the crowd.

"Not sure, mate. Haven't actually seen her myself, and the last time I heard from her was in an owl a couple days ago."

"Oh, I see..." Harry trailed off as he turned around, catching sight of the nervous expression his friend had, looking around the platform anxiously himself.

Harry smiled to himself, turning around to hide his amusement.

Ron and Hermione. It was really surprising his two best friends had yet to get together considering all they'd been through, not only with him but with each other. They'd faced death, seen it more than any adolescent ever should, and faced an infamous anomaly to their world that not many teenagers, magical or muggle, would have ever been able to handle. And through it all, they'd had a soul-deep look at the other's soul, an element many friendships, couplings and even marriages weren't privy to within so short a time of knowing one another, if ever.

So when would they bloody well get over their awkward attraction stage and hook up?

Harry blew a stray piece of hair out of his eyes, sighing as he took a seat on a nearby, though somewhat out of the way, bench while Ron was tackled by some Third Year Quidditch fangirls. He'd take isolation and loneliness over THAT any day!

"Shying away from the limelight, Potter?"

Harry turned his head toward the sudden voice addressing him. And without skipping a beat he replied, "I hear it's good for ones preceding reputation to every once in a while step away from the public eye, let them pine for a bit."

"To ensure your immortality?" the other offered smirking, now coming to stand directly in front of him.

"Exactly."

The two stood in a strange, comfortable silence for a moment.

"What brings you to the inferior side of the platform?" Harry asked his unexpected companion.

"Mm," the other murmured noncommittally, leaning against the bench. "I wish to be knowledgeable in all areas of life, so I thought dumbing myself down for a few moments would give me a better outlook on how the peons live."

"How humble of you," the Gryffindor said dryly.

"Hn, I thought so."

It was an odd acquaintance he'd made during the last part of the war, and after, when they ran into each other every so often. He couldn't quite make heads or tails of this one, she just... showed up randomly, said weird things, humorous, sarcastic things, and sometimes made some thought provoking comments. Much like Luna Lovegood did, but in a... more understandable way. But while Luna was more airy and floaty in her observations (that were rather on the spot usually), this one was... very blunt and sharp.

"So, P-" he started asking.

"Call me by my first name, Potter."

"Um," he stumbled on that one for a moment, before testing it on his tongue, "_Pansy_..."

"Very good, Potter," she praised him. "You have finally managed to say a word a toddler could accomplish. Congratulations."

Harry gave her a look from his seat. "If I'm calling you by your first name, it's only right that you call me by min-"

"No," she said abruptly, casually. "It would just be weird to call a Gryffindor by their first name."

Said Gryffndor stared. Yes, because that made SO much sense.

"Uh, you realize that made absolutely no se-"

"I'd love to stay and chat, Potter, but our love is sadly forbidden, and I'm afraid I'm getting the stink eye from my House leader. Ciao," Pansy said suddenly, and, just as soon, she left.

He was loathed to admit it, but encounters with her were just exhausting. Harry sighed, his glance moving over toward the direction Pansy was skipping off to.

_Stink eye indeed_, Harry thought, eyebrows raised in question at the look Malfoy was giving him.

It was a rather miraculous thing, having Malfoy look at him with annoyance and indifference rather than outright contempt and hate. But, Harry supposed, a war would do that to a person, but still...

To go from a git that hated his guts, having been involved with the Death Eaters and attempting to kill Dumbledore, never mind having professed his never ending prejudice of "mudbloods" at one time... And then to go and change to JUST getting annoyed with the Gryffindor for sweating in a compartment they shared, to rolling his eyes at some stupid comment Harry would make or giving him the stink eye when he talked to one of the blonde's best friends?...

Bloody hell.

"Why do Slytherins have to be so exhausting?" he asked himself, sighing.

He smiled the next moment however, a content feeling encompassing his being in the hope that this year would indeed be one he actually full heartedly enjoyed.

If only he looked behind him and saw that the calm he was in now, that what he saw between Malfoy and he, two rivals turned... not-so-much rivals...

...was all really just a prelude to the storm ahead.

* * *

**Chapter end.**

Author's Note: Hope you liked this chapter as well!

Thanks to the following readers for reviewing this story so far!: thrnbrooke, Eros, SP777, LadyFireCrab, Akira Kushrenada Merquize, glitterball, lady foxzy, bsxhpdr, Chocola Emo Shizzle, lanakoh, wuup, evanescenceangel18, bleachTHEsky, bangaxelhxc, CookieNinja, ash365, creepella, Winterimage, Rikku22, zhem1x5, boltlover101.

And then a few replies to some reviews:

**SP777:** Ahh! Long time no see! Psh, I got pretty far in the original (it was my first fic, have some pity! XD)! And it was wasn't "10 years ago"! T_T It was like... four? o.O I dunno if I can incorporate anything new to the HP fandom with my humor but there'll definitely (hopefully) be parts that are funny and make readers laugh! ^^ We'll see how that goes. Lemme know if you read something that you haven't seen in the HP fandom before! I don't read as much HP fics as I do IY so... I'm a little dry on what's been done and what hasn't. :P

**LadyFireCrab:** Glad you like! Not sure when Draco's cousin will show up, but I'm going to estimate in about two or so chapters. I'm basically re-writing this chapter by chapter, so when I start Chapter 4 I'll be writing with no technical outline. I just decide what seems best, heh. But he will come soon! Hopefully he (and I) won't disappoint!

**Akira Kushrenada Merquize:** Thanks so much for your compliment! Ahh, HPCoF is such a great fic! I remember when I first read it way back when! I wrote a side-shot, one-shot or whatever, for it when it first came out, actually maybe two now that I think about it ^^ Anywho! It's good to see some readers that have read the original Rivals and now the rewrite! I'd love your opinion on how you think it's progressing compared to the original! ^^


	4. From One Orphan to Another

Note: I suggest re-reading this, mostly because I've gone back and butchered... I mean- _edited_- the previous chapters and added stuff. That and it's been for flippin' ever since I updated, you'll need a refresher lol.

* * *

**Chapter 4: From One Orphan to Another**

"Oh, Harry!"

Harry whirled around at the sound of his friends voice.

"Mione! Where've you been? Ginny and I got stuffed into a cab with Malfoy and his friends. You should have seen how put off he was when-"

"Harry! We can chat about that later! Right now Hagrid's rounding up all the students so we'd better-"

A yell sounded a little further ways up the platform and both Gryffindors turned toward the sound, eyes widening upon contact. It didn't take them a second to glance at one another in worry before running over to the commotion.

"Weasley, if you have any brains left in that thick head of yours you'll back off!"

"Shut your gob, Malfoy! I know it was you and your cronies that made her cry, and if you think for a second I'll believe-"

"Ron!" Hermione and Harry called out, pushing themselves through the crowd, Hermione using her rank as Head Girl to make the students move off faster. "What on earth is going on!" she asked, looking back and forth between her friend and Malfoy and his crew.

"Yeah, mate. Calm down," Harry advised, stationing himself next to his friend and warily eyeing both the red head and blond. The scowls putting him on edge. "We don't need to cause a ruckus and scare all the first years. What on earth has gotten into you?"

"Why don't you ask him," Ron said jabbing his chin in Malfoy's direction.

"Oh, please, Weasel. Why don't you just trot off and find your sister before she drowns herself in whatever it is you've construed me to have done to her-" Malfoy said before he was cut off by one angry Weasley.

"You'll pay for that Malfoy!" Ron glowered. Instead of pointing his wand and uttering some silencing spell or anything to shut the Slytherin up, he bodily lunged for Malfoy, knocking him over and tumbled into a bench. He would have gotten a punch in if it wasn't for Hermione and Harry breaking up the struggle. Hermione went between Ron and Malfoy, while Harry grabbed at Ron as Crabbe captured his Slytherin friend's upper arms.

"—Enough! 5 points from Slytherin for provoking a Gryffindor—"

"—Ha! You got points taken!" Ron laughed.

"—And _10 points_ from Gryffindor for acting impulsively!" Hermione finished.

"What! You heard that pompous git! He deserved it!"

"Ron, not everyone deserves to be shoved down on the pavement and attacked."

"Listen to your know-it-all friend, Weasel. You might actually learn something important," Malfoy growled as he brushed off the dust on his slacks and cloak.

"That's real original. You think even after your parent's went missing and the Dark Lord was defeated you could quit it with that codswallop, Malfoy." Ron, oblivious to how deep that cut into Malfoy, pursed his lips triumphantly.

Malfoy fumed. He was ready to knock the Weasel into oblivion! He reached for his wand, but at the same moment Harry prevented a confrontation by running into him, knocking them both to the ground.

"Ger'off me, Potter! I'm going to kill you, Weasley! You hear me! I'll rip you apart!" Malfoy struggled as much as he could against Harry, but it was no use. They may be the same height and close to the same build but Harry was undoubtedly the stronger one, at least in their current position.

"Malfoy! Calm down—!" The Slytherin swung a fist at Harry. "Watch it! I'm only trying to hel—!" The fist collided with Gryffindor's jaw. "_Bloodyhell!__"_ Harry hissed.

Malfoy knocked Harry over, landing on his knees, panting from the struggle with the Gryffindor. He was breathing harder now, his eyes darting between Crabbe and Goyle, to Ron and Hermione and finally to Harry who was sprawled out on the ground clenching his jaw.

"Enough!" Hermione yelled. Malfoy sneered at the red-haired Gryffindor pushing himself up all the while Ron glared back advancing forward toward the Slytherin. They came close to each other without punching the other out—Hermione shifted so she was between them again.

"I said enough! Go join your House Malfoy, or so help me, Merlin—" she threatened. "And 10 points from Gryffindor for abusive words and implications. 5 points from Slytherin for hitting Harry, Malfoy," she glared. "He was only trying to help."

"Sure, Granger. He helped enough by making me-" Draco shook his head, a deep scowl plastered across it. Instead of finishing what he was going to say he stormed off, quickly followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"10 points! For what? That stupid—"

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! Not _now!_ Harry! Harry, are you all right?"

"_Ofallthestupid_—" _Insert groan of discomfort, check_, Harry mentally sobbed. "Yeah, I think I'll live but— He hit me in the front of my jaw. I think I chipped a tooth. Oh _Godric_, I feel dizzy."

Harry spit, and blood landed on the pavement.

"Oh gross."

Hermione took out her wand and muttered a Healing charm to clean up the blood in Harry's mouth. She also added a numb charm to his jaw so he wouldn't feel the pain. Not until he reached the Hospital Wing anyway.

Harry stood, wobbling a bit, then confirming to his friends that, _Yes, he was fine_, before falling into a heap upon the pavement.

* * *

"Wow, I cannot believe you hit Potter!" Blaise Zabini hollered down the Slytherin table. Many Slytherins, if not all, staring as they heard the news.

"That was the most brilliant thing I've ever seen!" Theo laughed across from the blond.

"He was preventing me from killing Weasley," Draco answered simply.

"What did the Weasel say anyway?" Theo asked. "Not that he needs to open that big gob of his to deserve a hit, mind you."

"Nothing," Draco mumbled, looking down at his fingernails.

"Oh, Draco. Did you lose us points for doing that? Did Granger see you?" Pansy questioned, worried.

"Only 10 points. Or so."

"And well worth it, eh Draco!"

"Did those Gryffindors get points taken?" Millicent Bulstrode wondered.

"Doubt it if Granger was the one doing the point-taking," Zabini rolled his eyes.

"No, they had 20 points taken," Draco amended for them.

"Serves them right. Hey look!" Theo stood, pointing and laughing as the trio of Gryffindors walked into the Great Hall. "Potty's got a big boo-boo!"

The Slytherins had a fit with that, snorting as Potter, Weasley and Granger walked to their table.

Draco followed them with his glare.

What the hell had gotten Weasley so worked up as to come after him and accuse him of making his sister cry?

* * *

Harry awoke sore and confused in the Hospital Wing—how he got there, he couldn't remember. When he tried to lick his mouth he scrunched his face up when his tongue hit something and pain seared along the side.

"What in the—" He reached up, touched his lip and realized it was cut and swollen. He swished his tongue around and felt that the cut continued from his outer lip into his mouth. He also discovered that his front, bottom tooth was chipped.

He groaned and fell back into the bed he was placed in and felt around for his glasses on the table next to him.

"Well, Mr. Potter, you're up finally." Madam Pompfrey said walking briskly into the infirmary.

"How'd I get here?" Harry asked as he lifted himself up into a sitting position. Madam Pompfrey handed him a mirror. He took it and looked—

"Well, from what I understand, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy and yourself got into a bit of a brawl. Care to explain what you remember Mr. Potter?"

He was looking at some distorted version of himself. He felt worse then he looked but it looked worse then he'd normally imagined it to be.

"Oh uh, well Ron said something to Malfoy, Malfoy got angry and went for his wand. So, naturally, I intervened. And then the prat—" Madam Pompfrey eyed him. "I mean, then _he_ punched me. And then I just remember Hermione charming my mouth so it was clean and then easing the pain. Then I was here."

"Well that's similar to what your friends reported."

"Am I going to die?" Harry dramatically swept his hand to his forehead and fell back into bed. Thus earning a hefty laugh from Madam Pompfrey.

It was rather odd, Harry always thought, that since he was in Quidditch his first year, he had made at least one stop in the Hospital Wing each year. So naturally, Madam Pompfrey and he made the best of it with jokes, witty cracks and the like.

"Not today, Potter. Now drink this, yes I know it tastes horrid, but it'll help regrow that tooth you're missing."

With that Madam Pompfrey patted his head as if he were 13 years old all over again and left him the things he'd need to take care of his wound. He was studying to be a Mediwizard (He knew he was a shoe in to be an Auror; though being trained to be a Mediwizard was something he wanted, just in case someone was injured) so he needed to know both Muggle and Wizard medical procedures.

Harry got up and collected his things.

"What —" he said as he noticed two pieces of paper lying on the chair that was next to his bed.

_Wonder if they're mine_, Harry thought_. __Oh. Yes, I guess they are__. _He found his name scrawled in beautiful black calligraphy on one of the parchments, writing which could only belong to Hermione while the other one was printed in black ink in all capital letters_. __Must be from Ron, _he thought, smiling to himself_. __Though, it doesn't look like his handwriting._ Harry shrugged, sat down on his bed, and opened Hermione's first.

* * *

_Oh Harry!_

_I cannot believe that Malfoy hit you! Ron had __no right__ to say that about Malfoy's parents! I haven't talked to Ronald just yet on this subject, but wait until I get him alone! I'll give him a piece of my mind on that subject._

_Did you see how angry Malfoy was? Something with Malfoy is amiss, I'm telling you. Yes he's still crude and annoyingly persistent when he pesters us, but something doesn't— doesn't feel right with him. You know? It's like he's avoiding something. But I suppose, considering everything he's had to go through since the war ended... Oh well, maybe I'm just looking too much into it. Ronald and I stayed in the Hospital Wing as long as we could, but Madam Pompfrey shooed us away so you could rest (that and the fact that Ron was bored and started braiding your hair [sorry about that!]). We both hope you get better and wake up before the Sorting Ceremony begins! We'll be saving you a spot at our table!_

_Hermione_

* * *

Harry smiled, fingering the three or four short braids that Ron had put in his hair as he picked up the other note.

_Alright, this must be from Ron__—_

Harry opened up the card.

* * *

_Get well.  
_

* * *

That was all the card said. 'Get well.' No signature. No sign whatsoever about who it could've been from.

"Right..." Harry said to himself, confused.

"Mr. Potter—" Harry closed his eyes at the sound of the voice from behind him. He took a breath, shoved the parchments into his pockets, stood up and turned around to the addressing voice.

"Professor," Harry acknowledged.

"I trust everything between Mr. Malfoy and yourself is settled." That wasn't a question.

"Hopefully."

"Hopefully, isn't good enough. Each year the two of you come back to Hogwarts, each year you and he get into a physical banter, and each year one of you ends up in the hospital wing at least once because of the other. Now let me reiterate the rules. This is your last year. I won't have you distracting Mr. Malfoy from his studies." The professor raised an eyebrow. "Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"Good." Snape lifted his head and nodded. "Now hurry along, Potter. I've come to escort you to the Great Hall for the Sorting Ceremony."

Harry nodded as he reluctantly followed Snape to where all the other students and faculty were gathered.

_Yes, it's absolutely clear you want to fail me but you wouldn't dare because that would mean you'd have to go through, yet another, year of my __painful__ presence. I'm __not__ my father you know_, Harry thought sourly.

He walked down the corridor, down the ever-changing stair cases, and directly to the Great Hall. Before he went in, he heard shouts behind him.

"Har-ry!"

" 'Arry!"

He turned around and was almost knocked over when a mass of red hair hurled into him.

"Ow! Okay, Ron, yeah I get the idea—you were worried! No need to come outta nowhere like a raging ball of fur!"

"Ron! Careful, you might hurt him!"

Ron rolled his eyes and let his friend out of the tight embrace.

"So, Harry, how's your mouth? Looks like crap."

Harry nodded sarcastically. "Yeah, thanks. I'll always know where to go when I need a lifter-upper."

"Ron!" Hermione said in a pained expression. "Harry, you look _fine_. You look better then you did when we took you in.'

"Yeah, I agree with that, mate." Ron nodded. "Though when you blacked out I thought we'd never make it to the Hospital Wing; you weigh a ton!"

"I do not. I only weigh-..." Harry trailed off as he felt the presence behind them.

"Are you quite finished with this reunion or can we continue on to the Great Hall where the rest of the Hogwarts population has congregated?"

All three Gryffindors winced.

"S-Sorry, Professor Snape," came the apology. They followed their potions master at a distance so they could continue speaking in hushed whispers.

"And I don't weigh a lot!"

Ron snorted. "Coulda fooled me."

"Harry's weight is what's considered to be average for a Quidditch player of his build; you should know that. How much do you weigh anyway, Ron?" Hermione pried, mocking Ron.

"I don't know, _how much do you weigh__,_ Mione?" Ron mocked her in return.

"A lady never reveals such things."

"Neither do gentlemen."

Harry snorted at the last comment.

"What?" Ron playfully smacked Harry's arm.

As the three entered the Great Hall, they heard the Slytherin table laughing and shouting at them.

"Hey look! Potty's got a big boo-boo!"

Harry looked over and glared, then turned away.

"Oh don't pay them any attention, Harry," Hermione comforted, walking over to her usual seat across from Ron and Harry, next to Ginny. "So," she started. "What are your resolutions for this year?"

"Pardon?" Ron asked baffled.

"Your New Year's Resolution, what are they?"

"Um, Mione, that's usually during New Year's Eve—isn't it?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I mean your _New Year_, as in your new year at Hogwarts."

"Oh."

"Well?"

"Uh—you first, Ron. I insist."

"Gee, thanks, mate," Ron said dryly. "Alright, uh, my New Year's resolution _for my new year at Hogwarts_, and my last, mind you, is to pass Potions and have the girl I fancy accompany me to the Masquerade Ball."

"The Masquerade Ball?"

"Yeah, the new ball. You know the one we get in celebration due to the fact that Old-Moldy-Voldy is gone." Ron hardly ever called the Dark Lord by the name of Voldemort, instead taking a more humorous approach so no one around him was uncomfortable.

"Oh," Hermione was, for the first time ever (besides 2nd year when Ron got his first Howler), speechless.

"So, who's the girl?" Seamus Finnegan asked curiously from next to Harry.

"Well I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?" Neville Longbottom asked from across Seamus.

"Because it's a bloody secret! That's why! Ya can't just go 'round tellin' people these kinds of things!"

"Sure you can, Ron." Seamus grinned. "Besides, everyone knows—" at this point Ron was beet red with embarrassment. "—that you fancy Lavender over there." Seamus pointed down the long table to the very end where a pretty brunette sat talking quietly with her friends.

"Uhh, well actually I don—"

"So, Ron," Harry started off trying to take all the attention away from 'who' Ron liked or who he really didn't. "Wanna hear my resolution?"

"Yeah—bet I know what it is- To rest and relax and not have to always look over your shoulder when you go skinny dipping in Hogwart's lake!"

Many a girl around them blushed at the thought of Harry being completely nude and glistening with moisture like some ethereal water god. It really was a delicious thought.

Harry shrunk a little in his chair, blushing profusely.

"Uh, well, who doesn't go skinny dippin' every now and then?" Seamus said quickly, seeing Harry's obvious embarrassment. Only then did Ron notice his best friend's distress.

"True, And with that said—" Ron went on and on about who he thought should make what on the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year. Harry spaced off making a silent resolution as he looked over at the Slytherin table.

_I've got to tell him. Dumbledore said no one explained to him what happened to his parents—said it was my job if anyone's. What in Godric's name am I going to do?_

Malfoy looked up suddenly and glared full force at Harry.

_Happy New Year at Hogwarts to you, too_.

And with that, Harry stabbed at his 'happy-faced' pudding.

* * *

**Chapter end.**

Author's Note: Hope you guys enjoyed this. Thanks to all that have read and reviewed!


	5. Enter the Lamia

**Chapter 5: Enter the Lamia**

"Oi, Draco!" Blaise bellowed as he came into the Great Hall, having made some excuse that he needed to use the loo just after the Sorting Ceremony had ended.

However, when Draco had turned around to send his friend a scolding glare for hollering out like some common Gryffindor his brow twitched irritably, for trailing importantly behind the brunette was a tall, broad shouldered, handsome blond.

"Oh bugger." Draco put his head on the table seething.

"Draco! Look who I ran into in the corridor!" Blaise slapped Draco on the back grinning, having absolutely no idea that his blond friend wasn't the slightest bit _tickled_ by his own cousin's arrival. "Hey." Without getting any response, Blaise poked at his fellow Slytherin's shoulder. "Hey, Drake. It's your cousin! From America!"

_That wretched nickname again! _Draco's head snapped up, his face plastered with annoyance. "I know where the bloody ponce is from, _Izzy_," Draco said using Blaise's own scorned nickname.

Blaise merely rolled his eyes. "Well if you're going to be rude—" the Zabini heir trailed off as he turned his attention to the other Malfoy. "Mr. American-Made-Malfoy, as you already know, I'm Blaise Zabini. This is Pansy Parkinson, Greg Goyle, Vince Crabbe, Millie Bulstrode, Keefe Richards, Xander Phelps and Poncey-Slytherin-Prince Extraordinare Draco Malfoy—which I'm sure you're already very well aquatinted with."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all. I'm Daimone Evane Malfoy Guthril d'Laour, but for short, you may call me Evane." The American shook hands and exchanged glances with the lot of the Slytherin's—even getting a good amount of attention from other tables himself.

"You've arrived safely," Draco said, eyeing his Slytherin House Band, which was upon his right ring finger, with much more interest than his kin, denying to move over in order to let his cousin sit. He looked up at his cousin briefly, then, just as quick, drew his gaze away from the other and taking on a rather bored expression added, "—Unfortunately."

"And as always you're a delight to see again, too, cousin," Evane responded, wickedly amused with how uncomfortable and out of sorts his British kin seemed with his presence.

"Well, naturally," was the other's only response.

"Oh, Draco, you never told us your cousin was so charming—"

"And handsome," Millicent commented, cutting Pansy off, smiling shyly beside her friend.

"Yes, that too. You two could almost be twins—" Pansy gestured back and fourth between the two cousins. "Well, just with the hair and eyes anyway," she finished lamely.

"Thanks a lot, Parkinson, I really needed to be _insulted_ when this night was going so well," the blond snipped, glaring at his cousin who merely smirked in reply, taking a vacant seat that a younger year had just left.

"It was hardly an insult, _dearest_," Pansy said, ignoring Draco's obvious discomfort.

Evane just laughed it off. "So, Dray, tell me, are you and Ms. Parkinson here an item?"

Pansy giggled as Blaise and the other Slytherin boys burst out laughing, some even spitting their milk out nearly.

Draco scowled, disgusted—partially because Pansy was his friend, and that was it; and also because Evane had the nerve to embarrass him in front of _his_ comrades.

"No 'ane." The Dragon attempted not to spit anymore fire or something else would happen—something that may eventually (meaning, _right-about-fucking-now_, in Draco's vocabulary) become physically violent.

"You mean to tell me that you haven't even _tried_ to put the moves on her?" Evane smiled charmingly at Pansy, giving that knowing smirk to his elder (by only 5 months, mind you) kin.

"We're friends 'ane. That's all."

"Lucian Draconian Donavan Malfoy d'Laour, I am utterly astonished that you don't have your malicious little eye on someone. I mean, a Malfoy without a lovely counterpart, such as Ms. Parkinson here, [insert giggle from Pansy here] is a defective Malfoy. Are you saying you're _defective_, cousin?"

Draco nearly growled, gritting his teeth. Then- "There is... someone," the blond stumbled with his words. "Just no one I care to tell _you_ about."

"Oh? So there _is_ a girl..."

"Arggh, my love affaires are none of your sodding business. Just keep your poncey-American-noggin out of my life!"

"Oh come now, Draco, you don't have to be like that. He's your cousin after all," Pansy tried to calm Draco down, along with sympathy dripping from her voice for Evane, effectively making Draco's blood boil all the more.

Unfortunately Evane's attention was somewhere else so he wasn't able to catch onto Pansy Parkinson's obvious approval of him.

"Well, well, _well_," Evane began, cocking his head to the side a bit, iron eyes glinting menacingly as he looked behind Pansy and Millicent.

"What?" Blaise asked curiously, trying to look where he was.

"Mmm. Who, pray-tell, is _that__?_" Evane's eyes drank up the unique creature he had his stare upon.

"Who?—Oh!" Bliase simply stuck out his tongue in distaste. "That's Granger. She's from Gryffindor—not bad looking, just annoying, really." _Well if this Malfoy was into creepy, overachieving Gryffindors, more power to him,_ Blaise mused.

Draco looked up sharply. If Evane's attention was at the Gryffindor table—

"No, not the girl, the guy in front of her."

"The red-head? That's Weasley—he's absolutely intolerable."

"No, the raven haired one."

"Oh." A pause. "Him." _Now that's just wrong_, Blaise thought. "That's—"

"It doesn't matter who he is 'ane. Just get your impure, _sodomite_ thoughts out of the gutter and stray away from the Gryffindor table—that lot's trouble."

"Didn't know you were so protective, cousin."

"Oh. Bugger. Off."

Evane gave his kin a look that held more than what anyone could fathom. No one spoke down to a Malfoy, especially one that believed themselves to be superior to the other.

"Did your mother or father ever think it wise to teach you how to behave in the presence of someone from the main family? Or were you simply given whatever you wanted just so they could shut you up from complaining all the time," Evane said, a scowl on his face as he recognized the other fighting for dominance.

Draco's eyes blazed at that, all the while growling. "At least my mum and father didn't have an inbred child."

"No. They had you instead."

_Touché._

"So Pansy, what's your New Year Resolution?" Draco asked trying to get away from another banter of who was better, stronger—more up to the job of taking Head Malfoy later in life.

"I'm not sure. Besides getting good marks in my classes, my main goal is to get shagged by one, or both, of the two most shaggable guys at Hogwarts." She wiggled her eyebrows at Draco, giving him an open invitation. Then suddenly, as if a light bulb had turned itself on in her head, she added, "Mmm, or perhaps both at the same time."

"Ugh." Blaise rolled his eyes into the back of his head. "You know one is not an option; that would just be wrong—scruffing it up with a Gryffindor—Bleh. And we all know the other one is a slut anyway, so you've got a chance there, Panse," Blaise said, teasing Draco.

"Shut your mouth, you," Draco said; _Blaise may be an idiot, but he's a friend, and he wouldn't willingly betray me. That and he knows if he does I'd cut off his balls. All three of them._

"Two most shaggable guys huh? Who're they?" Evane wondered allowed, intrigued.

"Well there's Draco of course—everyone, male and female, wants in his pants—"

"What can I say—it's a talent, really." Draco smiled arrogantly, his figurative peacock feathers flourishing behind his bravado. Of course he wasn't as shallow as anyone believed him to be (though sometimes he really was)—he just didn't want to be an open book, predictable or become close to anyone—every one he had become close to always ended up dead or left him for _something better. _That or they used him to their advantage.

"—and almost everyone has succeeded in doing that!" Blaise cut in, but was quickly quieted by Draco's harsh glare.

"—And the other one was the guy you were asking about; Potter."

"Potter?"

"Don't you just find it so suitable and delicious that the _two most shaggable guys at Hogwarts_ are also the _two most likely to kill each other at Hogwarts__?_"

"Kill each other eh? Why's that, Dray?" Evane asked, nudging Draco in the elbow. The latter recoiled from the slight touch but answered none the less.

"It's just _Potter_; him being alive is enough to drive anyone mad."

"What's wrong with him? Seems... pretty fine to me."

"He's the fucking Boy-Who-Lived-and-Defeated-the-Dark-Lord. Shines at every—" Draco started ranting.

"Here we go again," Pansy said, looking around, almost saying it to herself.

"—single thing, gets whatever the hell he wants, thinks he's so special because he's got that stupid scar on his head. He's just bloody annoying."

"How long have you disliked him?"

"Hated is the proper word; it's a mutual feeling, really."

"Potter turned down Draco's offer of friendship in our first year here at Hogwarts," Blaise stated, informing the oblivious American Malfoy.

"That's the most _ridiculous_ thing I've ever heard. Holding a grudge from first year? Are you insane? Last time I checked that didn't run in the Malfoy-Lineage, then again, you and your family were always considered outsiders–"

"First off, that's not the only reason I hate him, you _moronic imbecile_. Second, if you dare to talk about my family in or out of my presence again with such disrespect, I'll scald and feed you your own testicles."

"Uhh," Blaise started out, easing away from another one of Draco's tantrums. Anything remotely close to where his family was concerned was a touchy subject with the blond, and rightfully so. "Anyway, yeah, Draco's right, Evane. Potter has done hideous things to Slytherins in general—and you can't expect him, let alone any of us, to just sit back and take it."

"Of course not. Instead, my insolent and hapless cousin has to act irrational and childish, holding a goddamn grudge for seven years of his life—seven years better spent on your studies, cousin, and Quidditch for that matter, considering you haven't caught the snitch–"

"Evane—Kin or not, I advise you to shut your mouth—unless you have some chronic problem breathing through it. There are spells for that you know. In fact I'll be glad to help you out with that minor imperfection. Give me 10 minutes and you'll be breathing through your ass in no time. Besides, I've always caught the snitch, just not against Potter and I plan on doing that soon. I'll ram that bastard into the ground!"

"Alright, alright, calm down," Evane laughed at Draco—he never considered Draco to be his equal. It didn't matter if the other was his kin, his blood. He acted inferior, therefore he would be treated as such. Besides as son to the current Head Malfoy, Evane would most likely inherit that title when his parents passed away. Draco was in no way skilled, intelligent or even mature enough to take on _that_ status. The strong _will_ survive—even if the weaklings have to be killed along the way in order to prevail.

Everyone edged away from topics such as Potter, Draco's family or anything else that would send the two Malfoy's into a heated tirade, and instead focused on chatting idly about the upcoming year and gobbling down the feast before them.

And all the while Evane kept flickering his eyes over toward the Gryffindor table, never once taking not that his cousin did the same. Only when they turned their attentions back to the conversations at hand did their eyes meet, one smirking as the other's mouth curled into a snarl as their pride was placed out on the table, openly acknowledging, if only to the other, of the oncoming battle there was sure to be with two Malfoys inhabiting one dinky castle.

**Chapter end.**

* * *

Author's Note: Next chapter will be longer, promise :) What do you think of Evane? D8 Such a charming asshole grr lol


	6. One Lion's Prejudices & Another's Logic

**Chapter 6: One Lion's Prejudices & Another's Logic**

_Perhaps_ she wasn't getting it through his thickly covered red head. Perhaps she wasn't scolding him loud enough. Or perhaps she was just a little too far away from said red-head for him to hear her clearly. Even though she was sitting right in front of him, no more then a foot or two away.

_That's it_, she thought. _He's an idiot_.

"I still don't see how you think Malfoy didn't deserve all the crap I said to him—I mean not only has he been horrible to us for the last seven bloody years, he also made Ginny cry! The git needs to grow up and deal with the consequences."

"Ron! You're completely missing the point! It doesn't matter whether he deserves it or not. The point is that you didn't have to be stupid and say such a horrible thing to him just to get him back."

"Mione, you're crazy. Harry'll back me up, won't you mate?" Ron said as a matter-a-fact, nodding his head toward his best friend.

"Uh—" Harry didn't want to get into the middle of this, but as it was, he really had no choice. "She does have a point, Ron. I mean—"

"I can't believe it! You're siding with her? It's because I let Seamus put Dungbombs in your bed that one morning, isn't it? That's why you're siding with her," Ron concluded, getting up from the Gryffindor Common Room's lounge chair and wandering over to the fireplace, sighing, knowing he wouldn't get anywhere if he didn't at least hear them out, no matter how much he felt they were wrong.

"Alright, let's hear it—what's your oh-so-noble objection as to why I shouldn't say another mean thing to the Ferret again, hmm?" the red-head asked.

Harry looked at Hermione. She nodded her head insistently.

"Look, Ron, we all know Malfoy hasn't been the most _delightful_ person to hang around—but what you said..." Harry started to get that queer feeling in his stomach again, the feeling rising to his eyes, stabbing at his heart and refusing to be extinguished this time around. Harry continued. "It was completely... uncalled for."

The Potter-Black Heir rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, sitting forward as he put his elbows on his knees and looked up at his friend standing by the fireplace. Harry continued again.

"Point blank? Malfoy's parents are gone, Ron. I... I can't talk about it, but they just disappeared. No one knows even now whether they were murdered or went into hiding or what. But I- I saw the whole thing and I still can't make sense of it. I know what happened to them up until that point—he doesn't, and neither do you. And to talk about them in such an awful way after _only_ a couple of months... You probably made up for, in just those few sentences, everything he's said and done to us in the last six years plus. That isn't something to be proud of either."

Ron looked down only now realizing his mistake, even though he really didn't want to acknowledge it. Though, at the same time he wondered how would he feel if his own parents died, and Malfoy had said those _same_ scalding words to him?

Harry looked down as well, continuing, feeling, whatever it was he was feeling needed to be said as well attempting to get his point across.

"And besides that, you didn't only hurt him, Ron," Harry continued. This statement caught Hermione's, as well as Ron's, attention; they both looked at him intently. "You... hurt me, too. You said something about his parent's being blown up and mentioned Voldemort—it just really hit me at how close you really could have insulted him, hurt him—it's almost the same as my parent's situation. I mean he may be a horrible ponce, Ron, but if it hurt me by what you said to him—my parent's being gone for 16 years of my life, me never knowing them—how do you think it made Malfoy feel?

"He's known his mum and dad for his _whole_ life, and only just now they were killed, less than a few months ago. Sure Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy weren't the kindest people, but Malfoy was their son, they were his parents, and whether he loved them or not, there's still that utter shock of them being truly gone. Wounds like that never truly heal, so how much of it do you think you reopened?" Harry stopped feeling that emotion taking over, knowing it was satisfied with his words of acknowledgement. The thought of Malfoy and himself having something in common, let alone a mere feeling, was just too odd to comprehend.

Ron gave a huge sigh, while Hermione smiled weakly, petting Harry on the back, comforting him, tears forming in her eyes. Even she hadn't realized how deep it would've effected Malfoy, or even Harry for that matter.

"You're right, Harry. And you too, Mione," Ron admitted dejectedly, gesturing toward his two companions. "It was a horrible, disrespectful and disgusting thing to do. I wish I could take it back, but I suppose the only thing I can do now is to not nag him anymore." Ron rubbed the back of his neck—he was uncomfortable with the fact that his words would have exactly the same impact as what Malfoy had done to them in the past years of their schooling at Hogwarts. "Mind you," he continued. "I still totally detest him, regardless." Harry and Hermione smirked, giving Ron comforting smiles.

"You know, he will most likely bother you, maybe even try and get you back by saying something horrible—just like you did. But don't let it get to you, Ron. Don't act on his provoking," Hermione stated. There was no way Malfoy wouldn't retaliate in her mind; it was just in his character. Ron nodded his understanding.

"So... the Sorting went well, mostly Gryffindors." Ron gave a small smile and then perked up a bit trying to ease into another subject.

"And Slytherins," Harry added. It was odd—3/4 of the first years went either to Gryffindor or Slytherin's—only about 1/4 split between Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

As if reading Harry's mind Hermione stated, "I can't believe our particular Houses were the ones that the kids mostly went into... it's odd."

"Then again, we got more of 'em in Gryffindor than the ones that went to Slytherin," Ron said, now sitting down in the armchair he originally had occupied.

"Only by two, Ron," Harry corrected him, leaning his elbows, yet again, on top of his knees while still sitting next to Hermione on the couch.

"Ooh, two more kids than Slytherin's first year's," Ron mocked, making Harry roll his eyes.

"Oh well, I suppose it's only coincidence. Anyway... Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Hogwart's playing host to two foreign exchange students from America. The elder one's in Slytherin. I think I actually saw him today, too, sitting with Malfoy, Parkinson and their lot," Hermione mentioned.

"Where's this exchange student from again?" Ron asked Hermione as he began carefully picking through Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans.

"They," Hermione corrected, "are both from America. One from Massachusetts, the other from New York State."

"Wow, yanks..." Ron ooo'd and awe'd. "Bet they don't know you there, Harry."

Harry snorted at Ron's statement.

"I highly doubt that they don't know of Harry. He was one of the Order, the youngest, to save us from Voldemort; he's become part of our history now."

Ron shivered, "Geez, 'Mione, I still don't see how you can just say HIS name without so much as breaking a sweat or glancing sideways. I'm still getting used to it."

"You've done it once or twice before. Besides... Fear of a name—"

"—only increases fear of the thing itself," Harry and Ron finished for her, their eyes rolling toward the ceiling at the all-too-familiar phrase.

"Well, it's true. Even though it was rather difficult to say his name before, like in the first couple of years of our schooling, it isn't now, and it shouldn't be. After all he's gone, and anyone associated with him or his ways is prosecuted and more than likely sentenced to life in Azkaban."

"That or their wand license is revoked," Ron added.

"Wand license? I didn't know we had 'wand licenses,'" Harry wondered aloud, puzzled.

"We don't. Ron's just trying to sound smart—" Hermione gave Ron 'the look' and turned back to Harry continuing. "What he meant was that the person's wand is destroyed and he or she can't obtain one ever again and use it–"

"But if they're dark wizards and witches, then they really wouldn't need their wands in the first place to cause trouble, would they? I mean, wouldn't the Ministry have done that with the Death Eaters they put in Azkaban?" Harry questioned.

"I was getting to that. Besides the Ministry taking their wands and destroying them they also bind their power's."

"Bind their powers? That's just creepy. Anyone with that much magic..."

"What's 'bind their power's' mean?" Harry asked.

"First off: Ronald, no _one_ person has that much power; the most powerful witches and wizards in Britain come together, each of whom are direct descendants of Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff."

"I really doubt Voldemort would have had anything to-"

"Contrary to popular belief, Harry, Voldemort wasn't the only heir of Slytherin. In fact, there are many witches and wizards that come from the same bloodline of any of the founders of Hogwarts," Hermione said knowledgably. "In any case, back to what I was saying. With each of the descendant's unique, world-old powers they're able to conjure a binding that only they can make and control."

"Geez 'Mione, you make them sound like some Muggle comic book heroes," Ron snickered, abruptly ceasing when she scowled at him.

"_Second_," she said curtly, still aiming a silencing glare at Ron, before addressing her other best friend. "The practice of revoking wand licenses and 'Binding powers' wasn't established until this year actually, the idea only conceived and put into action after the defeat of Voldemort. And 'Binding Powers' means to take away or numb a witch's or wizard's innate magic. It's still in the sorcerer or sorceress but it becomes dead, untouched, and unknown to that particular owner. The magic basically has a mind of its own. It's told not to freely release, or otherwise, give its magic out... to anyone. And it obeys accordingly."

"Why can't they just give the man or woman's powers to someone else?"

"The Ministry of Magic believes that the magic of the convicted witch or wizard would poison the person they gave it to. Say someone like Filch, who isn't quite a wizard or a Muggle, was given an Accused's power... He then would adapt the dark magic himself and therefore become evil. Purely because of where the magic came from."

"Is that actually true though? That the magic is what makes someone evil?"

"No. I, personally, don't believe that, Harry. I think it's the events in one's life, and how the person adapts and handles those situations that makes them dangerous. More or less, magic is magic. It's neither good nor evil, but can be used either way. It's that single person's intent, really.

"For example, if someone like Malfoy, grows up in a household and was taught by a family member that their family is superior to everyone else, simply because they're Purebloods, wealthy and powerful and no one said anything against his word, wouldn't you believe it?"

"Maybe... I don't know, Mione, I mean I was raised with the Dursleys and yet here I am completely different from them."

"But you weren't sheltered like Malfoy-" Here Harry gave Hermione a pointed look. "Alright, so maybe you were sheltered. But what I mean is his parents had a high status in our world, everyone knew them, or knew of them, feared them, loved them—I'm not a bit surprised that he turned out the way he did. That's all he knew. He was spoiled by his parents—expensive presents being lavished about him and so on. However, like a famous Muggle saying, 'with extraordinary power, comes great responsibility.'

"The Malfoys had that power. With that they had to remain on top of things, in the best of care and above all, never questioned of their motives. If Malfoy did indeed become curious, my guess would be that he was probably threatened and punished if he even once attempted to question his father—"

"Harry would, too, though. They'd confine in his room, all 'lone and hungry. Lock him in there, they would." Harry nodded, agreeing with what Ron said.

"Yes, but not the kind of punishment Malfoy probably had to endure or be threatened with. Harry, if you talked back to your aunt and uncle what would happen? How would you be punished?"

"Well, I... I'd probably be yelled at for being an unwanted freak, scolded for being disrespectful, sent to my room and locked up. I'd probably be without dinner that night, too."

"Exactly, whereas you would be sent to your room, without supper, and yelled at, Malfoy was probably threatened with a curse, or even worse, put through one. He might've even been subjected to being locked in one of their dungeons if he ever had disagreed with Lucius Malfoy."

"Merlin. I never would have even thought—"

"As sinful as this is to say in my book, I really feel for 'im," Ron added.

Hermione gave a smile. "Ron, even Malfoy knows what it's like to be a kid, I'm sure. Well, scolded anyway."

"But Mione, how can you speak up for Malfoy with how much of an arsehole he's been to you?"

"Well, it may have bothered me in the beginning of our years at Hogwarts, but now I've gotten over it. I may be a Muggleborn, but besides being what everyone calls different, I'm still really proud of where I come from, and I love my family as would any Pureblood witch or wizard."

"Amazing," Ron commented in awe. Then, added, "I would be pissed as hell."

"Then again, you are Ron Weasley, bitter rival of Malfoy, friend to Harry, irrational idiot at times."

"Thanks 'Mione. 'preciate it, really I do."

"Oh well." Hermione sighed looking around.

Suddenly, "Hey, 'Arry, it's Hedwig!"

Hedwig came soaring gracefully through the common room window and perched next to Harry on the arm of the couch, nuzzling his cheek in affection.

"You've got mail."

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Harry gave Ron a wry smile while Hermione just laughed at Ron.

"What?"

"You sound like one of our Muggle commercials on the telly. 'You've got mail.' It's from AOL, I think."

"As enlightening as that sounds, I wanna know what the letter says."

"Nosey."

"Prissy."

"I am not prissy, Ronald Weasley."

"Are too, Mione."

"Am not."

"Guys..." Harry interrupted, reading the parchment over one more time. "It's from Dumbledore."

"What's it say?"

Harry gave it to them to read.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_It is requested that you escort and show one of the new exchange students, Lulabelle, around Hogwarts. Her schedule has the appropriate holes in it where you should be able to do as such when not in class._

_It would greatly please me if you were to meet with her, and myself, in my office before your first class of the day tomorrow morning. I expect you will be... delightfully surprised. The password is _**Candyfloss(1).**

_Good day and welcome to your 7th and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_In All Sincerity,_  
_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster  
Hogwarts School Witchcraft and Wizardry_

* * *

"Me? Why me?"

Ron squinted at the parchment over his friends shoulder. "'I except you will be delightfully surprised'? What's that suppose to mean?"

"I don't know why he'd want me to show this girl around..." Harry shrugged.

"Maybe she has a crush on you... asked for special permission to get you to show 'er round. Then when you least suspect it, while you're walking down some random dark dungeon corridor she'll—"

"Ronald Weasley!"

Ron sniggered shamelessly and stuck his tongue out at Hermione.

"I doubt that would be the case. The Headmaster wouldn't do something like that. It isn't like him."

"I agree with Hermione. Dumbledore wouldn't ask me to show this girl around just because she fancied me. He's classier than that."

"Yeah, you're right. But it was a nice thought wasn't it? I mean after Cho left... I thought you'd lock yourself in a cupboard and start gnawing at the wall or something." Ron seemed to be thinking to himself about that particular image, trying to figure out whether Harry would actually succeed in his 'gnawing,' or just go stark raving mad.

Harry scoffed. "Yeah well... I have had to deal with other things you know. Besides, I haven't got time for a girl right now."

"Yes, Harry wants to concentrate on his studies, unlike some people who shall remain nameless," Hermione said fixing Ron with 'the look'.

"Alright, alright. Oh! Don't forget we have that new class tomorrow, too. We completely missed the new teacher's introduction when we went to get Harry in the Hospital Wing-"

"What's it again? Muggle, Muggle Boil and Bubble?" Ron supplied.

"Charming, Ronald. No, it's called _Intro to Wizards and Muggles Alike—The Evolution_."

"What's this suppose to teach us that we don't already know?"

"I'm not sure. I suppose it's somewhat like our last semester history class..."

"—with a different name. Great." Ron groaned, slouching back into his comfortable chair.

"Who's teaching it?" Harry asked, frowning once more at Dumbledore's odd letter as he put it in his back pocket.

"Her name is Professor Courtese Shanelly," Hermione replied, nearly bouncing where she sat.

"Wait a minute... Wait just one bloody minute. _Shanelly?_ You mean, as in _Stuart_ Shanelly's _wife?_" Ron interrupted, hoping he heard his friend right.

Hermione nodded enthusiastically while both her companions either had a dawning realization drawing across their freckled face or merely sat there blinking, rather perplexed.

"What?" Harry was, of course, he thought, completely oblivious as to what they had already realized.

"Stuart Shanelly is the founder of the _Wizarding Organization of Magical Presences__,_ WOMP for short."

"So?"

"So? Whadda-ya-mean 'so?' He's probably the first wizard to ever be a care-taker of almost every magical creature known to the Wizarding World: dragons, hippogriffs, unicorns, Pegasus', centaurs, griffins, phoenixes... You name it, that lucky bastard's probably got it."

"But I still don't see the importance of it. I mean, of course it's great that he's helping these magical... presences out, but—"

"Harry, he's an animagus, like your father and Sirius were-" Hermione began.

"And to top it off, he's also something called a... bestiaorator?" Ron supplied, as he turned to confirm this with the brains of their group.

"Which roughly translates to 'animal speaker.' Thus, he has a very rare gift of speaking to almost all known creatures. Though I believe it's limited to mammals."

"Oh." _Talk about speechlessness_, Harry thought to himself.

"His main preservation is in Ireland, I think. That's where his wife's from. Then again, he has shelters all around the world; at least two on each continent. It's like a big preservation of forests and homes for any magical animal/creature/presence that's been banned from their herds, like Ferinz was. There are even manticores living there! Can you believe it? Manticores! Those things are deadly!"

"I should really brush up on my knowledge of our world, huh? Seven years of being- sorry, _knowing_- I'm a wizard and I'm still learning new things every day," Harry said almost sheepishly.

Hermione smiled. "Well," she gave a soft yawn. "I'm sure Professor Shanelly'll explain everything about her husband's work tomorrow."

"I've seen a few pictures of them, Stuart and her, I mean. They're a pretty young couple to have done so much, in their late 40's, I would guess."

"Yeah, I read something about them in the Daily Prophet the other week; that it was quite the accomplishment, at that age to do such an extraordinary thing, putting the reserve together and what not. I think they started the preservations right out of schooling actually."

Ron yawned in turn and commented, "They didn't even go to the same school, did you know?"

"Really? How'd they meet? Did one of them go to Durmstrang?" Harry asked, now curious.

"No, Courtese Shanelly went here for her schooling and Mr. Shanelly went to Harpress School of Sorcery in Salem, Massachusetts in America."

"That is quite far. You know how they met, Ron?" Hermione asked. "I wish the Headmaster would have told me ahead of time about Courtese Shanelly teaching here! I could have done loads more research!"

Harry snorted, earning a soft bump from Hermione's elbow.

"Not sure actually, I just know they met working on a similar project when they were in their late teens, here in Europe."

"What House was she in?" Harry wondered.

"Not sure 'bout that, mate."

"Oh well. We best be off to bed guys. It's already eleven o'clock—classes start at eight forty-five tomorrow morning, and Harry, you need to be at Dumbledore's before Potions starts. I'll see you two tomorrow."

"Night Hermione."

"Night Ron."

"G'night 'Mione."

"Night, Harry."

* * *

The next morning Harry woke up to very loud, very deafening knocking.

_Ron_, Harry thought with a wry smile, all the while stuffing his head under his pillow.

"Wake up, you great git!" came a muffled voice, the door screeching as Ron pushed it open. The next thing Harry realized was the thud on the back of his covered head.

"What time is it?" Harry asked yawning, burrowing out from his hiding place.

"7:45 AM. You'd better get ready, mate."

"Alright." With that Harry was up and headed to the washroom, taking care of certain bodily functions and then returning to get into uniform and scurry down for some early breakfast.

As Harry was walking in the corridor leading straight to the Great Hall he heard voices ahead of him. Looking up he caught sight of a group of Slytherins walking in as well.

Zabini, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Phelps, Richards and... some unknown blond. Harry paused, staring. _That's not... Malfoy... Guess __it must be that other exchange student__, _Harry thought. _But... where's Malfoy?_

As the group entered the Hall, Harry heard footsteps again, but this time they were coming from behind him. He turned his head slightly, his eyebrows lifting.

"Your group forgot you, Malfoy," Harry immediately clamped his mouth shut, not having meant to say that aloud, especially with how volatile the blond had been just the other day. Then again the slightly shorter boy would retaliate with something even more snide.

"Looks that way," was all that left the lips of the Slytherin Prince. Draco continued on toward the Great hall, hands in his pockets as he left behind a very confounded Gryffindor.

_Alright. This is completely mad. Where's his retort? __Did I miss it?_

Harry shook off the feeling, but it was even more apparent that something was off the rocker when he sat down with his food at the Gryffindor table looking across the room and over to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy was sitting slightly away from his friends. And they didn't even seem to flinch from this, nor did they even acknowledge he was there. They were completely unfazed. Well, except for a few furtive glances now and then.

"Morning, Harry," a voice fluttered in his ear, drawing his attention reluctantly away from Malfoy and the oddity he presented.

"Oh, hey, Mione." Harry licked his lips in consideration and then his brow furrowed as he continued to address his friend. "Listen, do you find it odd that Malfoy isn't sitting with his friends?"

Hermione sat down next to Harry and looked over, tilting her head slightly in recognition.

"How long has he been sitting there?"

"Since I got into the Hall."

Hermione chewed her lip, responding with a thoughtful hum.

"And get this, on my way here I saw all of his friends and that blond walking together in front of me. But no Malfoy. In fact, he was behind me as they entered. I said something like, 'your friends forgot about you, Malfoy,' and he just shrugged it off and said, 'Looks that way.'"

Hermione's brows furrowed.

"Hey guys," came Ron's voice.

"Morning, Ronald."

"Morning."

"Why's Malfoy sitting by 'imself?"

"You noticed too, huh?"

"Harry said he's been like that since breakfast started."

"Really? Oh, I just heard from Dean... Apparently Dumbledore made Malfoy Head Boy. Can you believe that?"

"Head Boy? When? Why?"

"This morning he decided it. His grades have been excellent, from what I hear. Not that I buy that reasoning, mind you, my guess is that Snape said something about his 'favorite pupil.'" Ron shrugged, sitting down.

"There's more to it than that."

"Whadda ya mean 'Mione?"

She sighed somewhat cryptically, picking at her omelet instead of answering. Ron, who was sitting across from Harry and Hermione stretched his arms over his head and began gulping down his buttermilk pancakes while they were still warm.

Suddenly Hermione and Ron heard an annoying clanking sound. They looked up and noticed Harry tapping his fork against the oak table they were sitting at, completely avoiding his favorite breakfast item (strawberry crème syrup on his waffles) and narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin table, in Malfoy's direction, as if contemplating something...

Something that seemed almost devious. Almost... _Slytherin_ of him.

"That's it. I can't take it anymore," Harry said simply and got up.

"What the bloody hell does he think he's doing?" Ron gaped, watching Harry make his way over to the Slytherin's table, directly toward Malfoy.

"I think that's the problem, Ron. He isn't thinking." Hermione watched in utter astonishment as Harry took a pitcher of ice-cold water from a nearby table, walked over to Malfoy... and...

Three...Two... One...

"POTTER! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL-?"

"He did... _not_ just do that," Ron sputtered, looking to his side at Hermione, horrified. "He's gone barmy."

"Yeah... I- Come on!" Hermione and Ron suddenly darted toward Harry and a wet, raging Malfoy.

"Thank goodness the professor's aren't here yet," Hermione mumbled as they arrived behind their friend.

"Are you completely off your rocker, Scarhead! I'm fucking freezing!"

"I—"

"UGH!" Malfoy gave a strangled cry of outrage and stormed out of the Great Hall, following him were whispers of 'What happened's?' and 'Did you see his face?' and most flattering of all, 'Did you see his arse?'

"Harry. I can't believe you just did that!" Hermione said, scandalized.

"What's gotten into you, mate?"

"I just... I don't know." Ron and Hermione exchanged glances and sighed, walking back to their table.

Harry was about to follow them... Until he saw it; lying as innocently as anything could have been on the ground.

It was a leather bound tablet of sorts with intimate writing inside on the seemingly endless amount of parchment.

He looked around to see if anyone was paying any attention. Besides the sideways glances the Slytherins were giving him, no one else was paying him any mind. He dropped to his knees, pretending to tie his shoes, and then snatched the black, leather book.

A journal.

Harry's eyes went wide as he whispered to no one but himself, "Malfoy's."

**Chapter end.**

* * *

Author Note: Ohohohohoho...

**(1)** **Candyfloss**=cotton candy


End file.
